Wednesday, 9 February 2011
Only the names have changed.
On Wed, 12 Jul 2006 14:56:28 -0060, Cyril York wrote:
gleaming in the sun. Its blue filling sifted cloudily in slow streams
"Good bye, Sully. We'll meet again." And with that, Jonathan held in
Kirill raised the boot to three yards and went ahead in low gear. I
I remember the wing gleaming in the sun. Its blue filling sifted cloudily in slow streams, chasing the day like I was chasing a life I didn’t even know I wanted. He told me something similar, but that would come later.
Tray table locked and seat back in its upright position, the plane descended to a place I had never been before, a place where he was waiting at the gate. And before I had a chance to find the moss on the north side of the tree, I was home.
“Have you been waiting long?”
“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”
But I didn’t actually say that, even though I knew it the second I saw him walk into the bar. We both belonged to someone else then, and even as we reached desperately for one another, I knew that I’d never stop waiting.
But that would come later, when he’d leave me standing alone on a crowded sidewalk. “Goodbye, Sully. We’ll meet again.” And with that, Jonathan held in the truth of the matter, the blatant fact staring us both in the face – that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
Kirill raised the boot to three yards and went ahead in low gear. I sat passenger side, my hand high on his thigh and my eyes on the passing woods. But the trees sparked a memory, and a smile cracked my face, broadening until I could no longer keep from laughing at myself.
“I’ve never been able to pronounce arboretum,” I told him, leaning over the center console until I was close enough to smell the heavy scent of citrus from his conditioner. “Isn’t that the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard?” And before he had the chance to answer, I ran the tip of my nose softly along the line of his stubbled jaw, parted my lips to nip gently at his earlobe.
But that will come later.
He knows almost everything about me that’s important to know now. Like that I used to live on a boat. Like how I feel about the brickhard sea, how much it feels like home, and how much home can hurt.
And I don’t need the contents of my spam folder to tell me how sorry he is.
Posted by kat at 1:19 pm